


Scars (because no Grey Warden lives without them)

by icylook



Series: Vergil Surana [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood Magic, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 12:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: Short stories about how Vergil got his more prominent scars.





	1. Blight

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr drabble posted on Vergil's blog (icy-warden on tumblr) without any edits.
> 
> Timeline: During Awakening.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Somewhere during Blight.

“I don’t know _why_ I’ve done that.” He grumbled. “It was just…” He gesticulated with his free hand. “An instinct. Or something.”

Morrigan raised her brows, looking up from the wound on his back she was in the process of patching up.

“You stepped between an assassin and his attacker and got slashed on the back.” Her dry tone didn’t leave much to an argument.

Vergil peeked at her, turning slightly. “He was distracted and I was nearby.” He grimaced. The protest sounded weak even for him.

“And still got injured. From here,” she poked his right shoulder, making him shudder, choking in a whimper. “-to here.” Another poke of her finger, under the left shoulder blade. Vergil clenched his teeth through the pain and glanced at the other side of the camp. Wynne finished tending to Zevran’s side.

After somewhat heated argument about stupid decisions and idiotic tactics they weren’t talking. At the moment. _And it’ll be for awhile,_ he thought. And then hissed at the sudden sting. Morrigan snorted, applying some of the herbal paste on the cleaned injury.

“He’d be without head.” Vergil mumbled under his breath.

“And you would be without mobility, if your spine was severed.” She spat with irritation. “What use of you would be _then_, hmm?”

“I had a shield.”

“Yes, which shattered under the force of the sword blow. You are too reckless.”

“So I’ll work on that.” Vergil said with a huff, eyes rolling.

“It pains me to say that, but he’s competent in what he does. You’re invested.”

“What.” He said flatly.

“Would you have done that for Alistair, I wonder?” The question was met with silence. “That proves my point.”

The rest of the tending to wound was quiet.


	2. Fort Drakon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Blight, final battle  
Blood magic and fixing injuries that leave scars.

The fight in the Fort Drakon was brutal. All their way to this point was hard, but the darkspawn mage and two ogres just before the top of the stairs were a rough surprise.

The thing was smart and knew exactly how to use the terrain to its advantage. The party got one ogre down, thanks to a combined effort of Morrigan, Zevran and Loghain’s, when Vergil focused on the emissary. Then the second ogre came to play.

Vergil got hexed on his left side, with some kind of telecinetic force, slashing at his shoulder. The lightning like pattern had entwined the length of his arm and hand. A thousands of extremly hot needles punctured the skin at once, immobilazing by cutting off the nerves, making his arm temporary useless.

All because he was distracted with Zevran almost being crushed to a pulp, his body between a wall and ogre’s giant hand. 

Vergil turned his back on his opponent just to furiously lash an array of ice spikes to the ogre’s meaty neck, concentrating with some strain to make them extra sharp and immediately lethal. After that, the emissary didn’t stand a chance with four on one, despite how strong and twisted magic it had on it’s call.

Vergil swayed slightly from the pain radiating from the arm. Gritting his teeth, he tore off the glove, feeling the blood under the armor, sinking into the material. The hand looked bad, blood dripping now on the floor. At Zevran’s concerned ask about bandages he only shook his head in negative. 

_Focus. _

_You’re close. _

_It’s so loud, by the Void, hurts. _

_Useless, useless. _

_Ah, but he calls so sweetly…_

He stumbled to the table at the centre of the chamber, leaning on it for support. After few steading breaths he got to work. Slowly, painfully untangled what he could of the alien magic, which blended with his skin alarmingly fast. He used his own spell, combination of restoration and healing with the blood. It hurt, like all his healing magic did. And it’d surely scar. _If I will live that long, _he thought bitterly as the deep red haze reluctantly diminished from surrounding the arm.

A sharp intake of breath made him glance at Loghain. He grimaced slightly. Ah, yes. The blood. Vergil tested the mobility of his arm and fingers in particular, slowly clenching and unclenching them. He’d have to concentrate a little more on his body and his surroundings to sustain the spell stiching it together. Darkspawn ichor will be as good as regular blood. Not for long, though.

“It always comes to this, yes?” He sneered, pushing himself from the table and staring at Loghain with visible challenge. He didn’t have the time for subtlety. He felt the movement behind him, Zevran coming to stand close by.

The old general held Vergil’s gaze and then broke it, shaking his head.

“We don’t have the time for debates. I suggest we move on.”

Vergil looked a moment longer at Loghain, until Zevran’s hand brushed his right palm. The mage caught his gloved wrist and brought it to his lips, leaving the gentle nip, eyes never leaving Zevran’s. He just huffed in amusement, worry leaving his features.

“If you’re still in one piece, let’s go to see the end.” Vergil murmured.

“Right beside you.”


	3. Blight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Post Blight, Awakening  
Vergil and his Wardens face a new kind of darkspawn.

Kal’Hirol was officially on Vergil’s to _“freeze over, seal and never come back”_ list.

“Stop squirming!”

“It fucking _hurts_.” Vergil hissed. “Blighted thing wanted to _chomp off_ my foot.” He glared at the scorched remains of the new darkspawn. Ugly thing, with nasty fangs, crawled from beneath the earth where he was standing, minding his business, and _is it twitching still? He was sure he killed it to death!_

Anders gave him a dirty look, in the process of taking off the boot from the injured leg. “I can’t work like that! Bite on something then, Nathaniel keep him from trashing around, would you?”

“Don’t you dare restrain- _ugh!_” The healer pulled the leather boot in one smooth move, tossing it somewhere.

“I’m sure no one can truly tame you, eh, Commander?” Anders said cheerily, hands working quickly over the wound. The bitten ankle was swollen, teeth marks deep and bleeding sluggishly. He prodded the skin carefully, the pads of his fingers glowing lightly. 

“Lean on Nathaniel, I’m sure he won’t mind.” The archer scowled at Anders, crouched beside Vergil.

“Keep that up and I’ll show you the- _aah!_” Vergil choked on the shout, back crashing into Nathaniel’s side, nearly toppling him over.

“Why it is like that? Think it has venom?” Nathaniel worriedly glanced at the wound over Vergil’s shoulder.

“Well, no one got bitten and lived to tell us, has they? Now shut up, I need to concentrate.” He said as his palms radiated now a pale blue light, struggling on slowing whatever toxin made it harder to close the cuts. In the long minutes the healer was working on stopping Vergil from bleeding out, Nathaniel rearranged Vergil to more comfortable position. Back to chest, his mouth near Vergil’s ear as the mage demanded he talked to him to distract him from the agony. _“You can even tell me about cleaning your bow for all I care, just keep talking_” he said lowly, breathing purposely slow and measured. 

He was paler than usual.

“I’m done.” Anders announced after some time, looking up at Vergil. “I think it’ll scar.” He added sheepishly.

“Whatever,” Vergil huffed, “as long as it stops this _fucking throbbing_.”

“But I thought you enjoyed some teeth?” The healer smirked, getting up and dusting himself off.

“I’m not a masochist.” Vergil growled. 

“Yes, you prefer to inflict the pain on others.” Anders drawled casually and Nathaniel’s cough sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh. 

“Here, drink it.” Vergil glared at him and snatched the bottle with the elfroot potion, chugging it greedily. He licked his lips, slowly stretching them in wicked mirth.

“_My, my,_ Anders, as you know me so well,” his smile sharpened, “you can gather some samples of this,” Vergil gesticulated around them with one hand, “_creatures,_ so Nathaniel and Sigrun can extract the poison and turn it into something useful.”

Anders groaned, and turned to the task, knowing it’s no use to try and sass the Commander when he was in_ that_ mood. 

“Ungreatful sadist.” He mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that! And where’s my boot? It’s Antivan leather, _I want it back!_”

When Sigrun came back from the scouting, she was glad there weren’t any darkspawns nearby, as the amount of noise her companions made was ridiculous. 

Grey Wardens, huh?


End file.
